It won't be the day
by Queenmab126
Summary: He needs to know, he needs to delve into this, otherwise Sam will drown because he was too afraid to plunge head first into the dark water to try and save him.


_**AUTHOR'S NOTES;** _Rewatching the Rocky Horror episode, that line Sam has about feeling fat in that costume made me think that they dropped the issue, when they made it obvious that he had an eating disorder. I tried to make it as realistic as possible, and I focused on that instead of the stereotype that media forces down our throats. I know first hand, and the skinny teen age girls are just a minority of the ED sufferers.

Reviews would make my day =) I'd love to hear thoughts! It will be made up of 2 parts, the next should be Sam's POV, but I'm not sure yet.

_**It won't be the day**_

_Someday I'll hope again. _

He has always been the smart one. Blaine Anderson understands, he comprehends and gets to the core of everything before everyone else.

Yet when his emotions are so intimately tangled up in what he wants to eviscerate and examine, the fear and anxiety he feels every time are just too much to deal with. So he pushes the thoughts away as much as he can, leaves interrogatives hanging on his shoulders for as long as possible, pretends not to see the light in those green eyes flicker and suffer.

His eyelids burn now though, the pained sound Sam made right before collapsing on the floor in front of his locker ringing in his ears and he can taste the saltiness of the wet trails lining his cheeks now. He needs to know, he needs to delve into this, otherwise Sam will drown because he was too afraid to plunge head first into the dark water to try and save him.

He types into Google _eating disorder_ and begins to read.

* * *

_I_

"Are you gonna eat that Bro?" Ryder sticks his hand out, rummaging though Sam's tray at lunch, and Blaine suddenly becomes aware of just how much is still there, all mushed together by the incessant movement of Sam's fork, which never actually gets to his mouth.

"Why?" He doesn't miss the edge in Sam's voice as well, the alarm making him sound slightly scratchy, eyes wide and alert.

"I wanted it, but no problem, keep it." Ryder sheepishly draws his hand back, the stunned silence at the table making Sam even more fidgety. He doesn't meet his eyes when Blaine curls his fingers around his.

_II_

The tight nervoussness has always been there, an unspoken and irrational reaction tightly connected with everything that is physical, _touchesexercisefoodmusclesskin_, the paradox that Sam is so attached to those things yet he seems to never know how to actually deal with the intensity of the emotions they trigger in him. He is tactile, the very first thing the world sees of him is beauty and material perfection, yet every time Blaine mumbles into his skin how gorgeous he is, he feels the muscles tensing up. Sam doesn't believe it, he never believes it.

_III_

He wouldn't be able to say what pushes him to follow Sam that day.

They fall into their routines so easily, and Blaine is just so utterly confortable around Sam that he just doesn't control anymore. He doesn't care about he says or how it sounds out loud, the weight he feels on his head when he spends hours with someone close to him isn't there, there's just fingers brushing his every few minutes, and ungraceful laughter dotted with snorts and breaths. Kisses, made up words and senseless conversation about anything and everything.

Yet he finds himself moving almost against his will, legs bringing him closer and closer to the bathroom door because something is just wrong and he can't seem to point out just why but what he saw in his boyfriend's eyes before he got up from the table isn't meant to be there, should never be in anybody's eyes, let alone those he always sees full of light.

Blaine hovers in front of the door, the sink is running. He waits for a few seconds. "_Sam? Everything fine?" _ The answer he gets has this scratchiness that keeps him awake that same night, turning and tossing in his bed with this feeling of dread growing cold on his spine.

The next time he ignores the guilt curling in his stomach as he hovers and listens without calling Sam out. The next night he doesn't sleep because he _heard him, _he heard the dryheaving and the coughing and he _saw_ the swell under his eyes when he came back to the kitchen. Or maybe it is his contorted head playing games and he doesn't know which is worse.

_IV_

Those sounds stick to his brain like mud, his blood runs cold and goose bumps erupts each and every time he _sees_. He _sees_ and he can't grasp the enormity of what is unraveling, because the big picture is still there, Sam isn't losing weight and holds him tight and strong and there is nothing broken for long stretches of time, they still play videogames and they end up making love more often than not and there's that one time Sam actually takes him to the new bakery in town and they share a croissant and maybe everything is going to be alright because he doesn't run to the toilet and it was just his mind fucking with him.

But there are angry red marks on his knuckles. Blaine's eyes water but he keeps silent and Sam keeps sleeping.

_V_

He sits on the benches in front of the football court with his forearms perched on his tights, nervous energy making him jittery. He has never seen Sam that way, the raw anger and visciousness are just not his. They were never there.

But Blaine was carefully optimistic once again, and he thought that maybe it was just Sam's way of dealing with his fear of rejection. That maybe if he made him see how loved he was and how perfect he looked even when he was sweaty or he couldn't read a long word, he would _stop this thing. _Girls dieted all the time, they complained about having chubby legs and hair not shiny enough. It didn't have to mean anything more than that, the insecurity everybody their age deal with.

His hand is bleeding, he looks at it once again like it is alien. The cut on his fingerpad throbs. "Sammy you just can't drink diet coke, that's not a lunch." He grabbed the can. "Let's see what's inside, I bet nothing but chemical stuff." He doesn't realize what's going on until Sam wrenches the can out of his hands, the sharp opening slicing open his middle finger, but he can't feel pain, just fear and what he hears in Sam's voice. "Fucking mind your own business!" He storms away.

A few hours later he still hasn't heard from him, Sam never asks about his hand and doesn't apologize. He feels like the person he glimpses when food is involved is not his boyfriend at all, all the care and the warmth just _gone_.

_VI_

He doesn't know much about this sort of stuff. He likes to think he is educated, way more than two thirds of the braindead, hormone charged teen agers who drag their feet along the long expances of the Mckinley alleys. But he doesn't know much, only that anorexic girls don't want to eat even though they gradually begin to look like death is going to claim them sooner or later, and well, that was pretty much all he has ever heard of.

Sam looks like he always did, his eyes are tired and there are days when he just seems another person and there is no way to just calm him down and make him laugh from his belly like when he is happy. But he isn't losing weight, and Blaine sees wrappers of Kitkat bars and Doritos stuffed under books in his backpack.

They actually begin to appear everywhere, around the same time Sam begins to make up excuses as to why he doesn't want to go out, he doesn't want to go to the movies, he doesn't need to replace his shirt even though Blaine expects it to crumble down any minute. There are times he just disappears for hours, his phone beeping into nothingness. Times when he rainchecks minutes before the hour they are supposed to meet.

Blaine shows up at his house one of those times, his brow furrowed because that is just too much, and he is beginning to feel more like a choire than anything else.

Carole greets him and her warm smile makes him mirror the curve of lips. "Sam is up in his room, I didn't know you had a date tonight!"

The door opens and the boy whips his head faster than light, his eyes wide and it's almost painful how quickly he stumbles up and tries to dust crumbs off his sweats. There's food everywhere, chocolate bars and cereal and splotches of milk on his bedspread and crisps and just food. So much of it that Blaine thinks that _finally it is over_ and he is going to get his boyfriend back, everything will go back to simple and easy, and he vows he'll make Sam believe in himself so much that he will even stop the over exercising and maybe he will lose the sixth little round muscle on his abdomen but that's the last thing that matters.

When he looks up though, cold and heavy uneasiness seeps to his bones; he has never seen Sam look so _afraid_, his eyes down like he can't bear to bring them up, the _shame _so evident Blaine almost thinks he caught him cheating on him. "I- I'm sorry I just. _Please just go away." _

He closes the door and he gets down the stairs stumbling and he is out of the house before even exhaling. His mind is so muddled that he can only focus on getting enoug ovygen in between wrenching sobs.


End file.
